


Basic Human Nature

by ProudToBe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Jam, M/M, Mind Palace, Nightmares, Post The Great Game, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProudToBe/pseuds/ProudToBe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A laugh.<br/>And everything explodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basic Human Nature

_"Gave you my number. Thought you might call..." And then he smiles, that mischievous, mad smile that Sherlock knows incredibly well._

_A laugh._

_And everything explodes._

 

Sherlock panics and sits up, so quickly he almost falls out of his bed, only to realise that he is home on Baker Street. 

Safe.

It's not the first time he has had this nightmare and he does the same routine as always.

Walks up to John's room, making sure that he is safe and breathing. Which he is, obviously.

Then he walks downstairs to lay down in the sofa and sink in to his mind-palace. Reassuring himself that he is fine and not crazy even though up to this point he has never had a nightmare before.

The incident at the pool, as John modestly calls it, scared him more than he wants to admit and he can not figure out why. 

The mind-palace gives no help even though he tries almost every night.

Sure, Moriarty is a mad man and he wants to kill Sherlock. But death does not scare him, nor Moriarty's threat.

 

"I will burn you Sherlock. I will burn the _heart_ out of you." 

 

So what was it then?

What was it that made him so scared? What did  he think of those split seconds when he thought that the bomb actually went of?

He never remembers, and he always tries to. 

Images flashed by his mind as he tries to recall the dream. It's the same as always, though the water is a little bluer.

He sinks deeper down. Things get clearer, but no answers reveals.

 

This is how John finds him in the morning. Laying perfectly still staring up at the ceiling. 

It's nothing new to him, he knows Sherlock will come alive in a couple of hours just to be his obnoxious, wonderful self again. He walks to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Tea and bread with some jam just as the day before and the day before that and the day before that.

 

Sherlock wakes up when the teakettle starts whistling. It's earlier than most days but he feels that he will not get anything out of his mind-palace today either.

So he sits up, rubs his eyes, which are sore from staring at one spot for several hours, and tilts his head from side to side just to stretch. Then he stands up and walks up to John, who stands with his back against Sherlock and is humming quietly.

He looks so peaceful, like the things that had happened a week ago hadn't.

An explosion flashes by in Sherlocks mind and he just feels the urge to touch John. To feel that he's here. Alive and not blown up to pieces.

He raises his hand...

John jerkes away from Sherlock's touch.

" _What_ are you doing Sherlock?" He asks and turns around looking very surprised.

Sherlock finds himself stunned by the hardness in John's voice and for a moment he just stands there.

"I... I um... Just wanted to say good morning. I hope that you have slept enough and are well rested, which you might not be after what happened last week. It would be very  understandable if you experience nightmares. Something I obviously don't have... Anyway, we have a very interesting case today and I need you to come with me... Obviously. It's a murder." He lies, not really sure why, and gives John a smile. John, who looks normal again, smiles back. 

"Would you like some tea?" He asks and holds up the teakettle.

"Sure." Sherlock answers, not because he wants tea but because it would give him more time to find some kind of murder-case. He will probably have to call Lestrade or Molly. A waist of his valuable time of course, but nonetheless necessary.  

It goes a few hours but Sherlock finds no murder case. He finds it odd that no one has died mysteriously in a long time. There's almost always a case at the police office, cases he never takes, obviously, because they're so basic. So easy.

He decides not think about it, bite the bullet and phone Mycroft. He might have something. 

"Well hello brother dear." Mycroft answers sarcastically after letting Sherlock wait 11 tones until picking up the phone. "It must be something very important for you to call me at this hour. Or well... At all."

"I need you to find me a murder case. An interesting one. Now." 

"Really? Since when do you want my help with anything? Oh, what have you done this time Sherlock? Gotten bored and shot something so now John and Mrs.Hudson forces you to take a case? Though you sound more desperate than that. Moriarty? No... Not that desperate. What about... John. What's he said to you Sherlock?" Mycroft says with the voice of a parent and sighs. Sherlock can hear how he switches and and puts the phone to his left ear. He held it in his right hand first because he's left handed, obviously, and people tend to pick things up with their dominant hand.

"I just told him I had a murder case which I don't and now I need one so that he won't realise I lied to him." Sherlock quickly says.

Mycroft sighs again. Annoyed that he has to play the parent.

"And why would that be so horrible?" He asks. 

Sherlock thinks about it. He has lied to John lots of times. Why was this different.

"I..."

He has never actually lied about having a case but he has lied about what cases are about just to get John to come with. He could do this now. Why had he not thought about that?

"You what?" Mycroft asks, making Sherlock almost drop his phone. He had forgot about Mycroft.

"Ineedtogomutchtodoplacestosee!" Sherlock shouts and hangs up. He needs to think alone without Mycroft annoying him with his 'older brother assistance'.

Once again Sherlock looks to his mind-palace. He floats in to his mind trying to figure out what was going on with his brain. With him.

He seeks resemblance in other humans even though he doesn't see himself like one of them.

Could his nightmares and odd behaviour be connected?

His brain searches through all the information he has about different symptoms. Every science article, every documentary and every doctor or nurse he has spoken to.

Nightmares and unusual fear. Nervousness and the incident at the pool.

 

He sees something and he ties up two threads. The another and another. Suddenly he has at least something clear.

The Incident at the pool had made him fear for someones life. He is nervous because he knows that Moriarty can strike anywhere, any time and he has nightmares about it happening.

To who?

"Think Sherlock! _Think_! Who is it? Think, _think,_ _THINK_!" He screams and stands up.

John looks up from his chair.

"Are you okay Sherlock?" He asks with concern.

"No, John. I'm not. I'm... John!" He says as it he realises.

"You're me?" John asks with sarcasm. Sherlock doesn't answer.

John sighs as he sniffs for a smell he just noticed.

"Cock!" He yells as he runs into the kitchen from where it comes grey smoke. Sherlock doesn't follow. He just looks out the window. It's dark outside. How long was he gone for?

He smiles to himself as he hears John cusses as he tries to put out the fire on what smells like a burnt chicken.

But he is troubled. This was not supposed to happen.

His mind helped him figure out that it was in fact John he feared for. 

It so very clear now.

How he always needs to know John is fine, and even walks up to his room, watching him sleep, just to make sure. 

How he always subconsciously touches him to feel that he is actually there and not kidnapped laying helpless in a dungeon.

What Moriarty had done to John had scared him more than everything else

The fire alarm in 221B goes of and his face turns to what he holds the most dearest. Basic human nature, something that Sherlock has never understood before. But he still follows it. He still has that one thing he cares so dearly about.

He now knows who. And why.

 

It is John.

It is _always_ John.


End file.
